


Muse

by madison_thompson



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: M/M, artist!Craig
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 04:58:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madison_thompson/pseuds/madison_thompson
Summary: Craig is an artist. He lives with his head in the clouds and feet firmly planted on the ground.Tyler is just looking for a way to get money to fuel his troubled ways.Maybe it's not what they had in plan, but fate brought them together and now it's a rollercoaster





	1. Make an Entrance

The smell of marijuana. The feeling of my hand placed on the small of a woman's bare back, fingers tapping against her skin. I don't even remember her name if I'm being completely honest.

Of course, it happened again last night.

I blew all my cash. Again.

I look at the girl under my arm. She's blonde, has obvious lip injections, and is deathly skinny. She's someone who sleeps around, possibly a stripper. Oh well... I just hope I used a condom.

I crawl out of the fair-sized bed my head pounding, heart throbbing.

I search the dingy hotel room for my clothing. I find my shirt on a disgusting chair, my pants half-hung over the nightstand with the lamp knocked over, my underwear buried under bed-clothes, one sock over by the bathroom door, the other by the wardrobe.

I scramble to get them on before the girl wakes. I just want to run, to get out as quick as my feet will allow me so I don't have to deal with with this mess I've made.

Right as I make it into the main lobby, I take out my wallet to count how much money I have.

Three dollars.

Three measly dollars are all I have to my name. I have no job and not a single way to have an income. I'm so fucked.

I make a quick exit of the hotel and take a look at my whereabouts. I'm in Boston luckily. I'm in the city I should be in at least.

The problem is that I don't know what part of the city I'm in.

I rake my right hand through my hair and let a breath out through clenched teeth.

I don't know what to do. I can't call a taxi, I don't have enough cash to pay for it. I guess I'll walk.

Looking right and left, I decide which path to take. On the right, it leads me to the downtown area. On the left, it leads me to a suburban area. I don't live anywhere near a suburb, so I take the right.

My feet patter along the sidewalk in even, patterned steps. Rows of shoppes and storefronts pass me. All I see are beautiful faces among the early crowds of people. It has to be somewhere between ten and eleven in the morning.

I look over to my left, the Starbucks logo staring me down. I think of all the white girls and gay guys that drink the stuff and chuckle to myself.

I nuzzle my face into my coat, which of course I found thrown on a lamp. It's so cold out.

I keep walking, apologizing to people as I walk into them. Being tall has every downside possible. I don't know why people want to be tall, really. It sucks.

I walk right passed a guy holding a sign saying, "Will suck dick for $." I'll pass that offer, weird guy.

Snow flurries begin to fall and I'm left silently cursing myself out for my actions. Why in the world did I let my habits get to me?

Either way, I'm stuck now. I'm stuck in the cold of the late morning and on the edge of a Boston blizzard. Oh, how stupid I can be.

I move my eyes around. I'm looking for absolutely anywhere I can take shelter.

My eyes seem to stick to one thing, or person at least. His or her red beanie grasps my attention and draws me near.

I quicken the pace of my steps to meet up with said person.

"Hello." I say, not even realizing what I'm doing, or saying for this matter.

"Uh, hi?" They say. Definitely male and definitely not from this area. He's a foreigner.

"Im sorry, I'm for sure disturbing you. I can just go if you want me to-" I ramble and turning away.

"No, no, no. You're okay. Stop for a second." He practically demands.

I stop dead in my tracks and he does too.

He takes me my the chin and moves my face around a bit. My brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and irritation.

"Wow... I never thought I'd see the day..." His words seem to be in awe, disbelief even. It's almost like he's seeing his twin he never knew he had. It's quite hilarious. "Would you like to model for me?"

"What?" I'm genuinely confused. Never in my life have I been anywhere near attractive, so what makes me so interesting?

"Oh, I'm sorry! I'm Craig, an artist. I've been looking for the perfect model for ages and I think I've found him. Well, as long as it's okay with you. Don't worry, if you agree, I will pay you. Of course I will pay you if you're going to sit at my apartment for hours on end in the same pose."

All I heard was "Craig, model, pay." It's all I needed to hear as well.

"Sure. When do you want to start? My name is Tyler by the way. Nice to meet you." I say nonchalantly.

"Now. We start immediately." Craig, as I now know him by, says bluntly. His eyes light up when he's excited.

"Uh, ok then." I blink my eyes a bit rapidly.

"Come on, let's go!" He hyperbolizes and pulls me by the arm.

This is just peachy.


	2. Art Doesn't Come from Happiness

I'm pulled along bustling streets, I swear Craig is going to rip off my hand if he doesn't slow down. We pass stores filled to the brim with bobbles and trinkets, but not a single soul inhabits them.

I barely get a chance to look around before having to duck under a mint green canopy that hovers over the entrance to a red-brick building. I take it that this is the apartment building in which he lives at.

The lobby is quite beautiful, actually. White marble flooring, grey-stone walls, and some random sculptures fall into place around. The lady behind the front desk fills out paperwork and doesn't turn her head up to look at us. 

"Whelp, she isn't much fun to deal with, so let's just move right along." Craig states in a mind of a monotone way. 

"I can tell..." I let a hiss of confirmation out through my teeth. I take a long, hard look at her. Blonde hair, blue eyes, she's quite pretty honestly.

"We might want to get a move on before the snow storm really starts to kick in." Craig grabs my hand and guides me towards an elevator.

The very second we reach the elevator, he's punching in a floor number and the brassy gate closes.

"So... how did you become an artist? I know it's a hard career to get into and make decent pay off of, but I'm just curious." I try to make small conversation. 

"Have you ever heard the phrase 'art doesn't come from happiness?'" He replies, face twisting in a way that presents that this topic slightly irritates him.

I think long and hard, flipping through a drawer of sayings in my brain. "Yeah... I think so..." I finally answer being especially careful of my words.

"Well, that saying is true." He states. I think he's going to say more, but instead says nothing.

"Okay? Is there any story behind why you're saying that?" I ask. I feel as if I drew the line, requesting to hear more. 

"In time you'll understand. For now, you mustn't worry about it." He says right as the elevator doors ding. "Come on, I'll show you the way."

I don't have time to reply or counter dict, he's already heading down a long hallway lined in more white marble. Seriously, the walls are made of the stuff. 

I follow, quickening my steps to a light jog to catch up, but only for a moment because of my long strides. 

We walk almost to the end of the overly-long hallway. Craig stops in front of a door labeled 143. Doesn't 143 mean 'I love you?' Oh, it's just an odd coincidence. The door numbers must go backwards because we're on the top of the building with one's when usually the one's are on the bottom floor. I'm thinking too much into this.

Craig takes out his keys and fumbles around a bit before finally unlocking the door. "Home, sweet home." He calls out as he swings the door open and waltzes in.

I follow suit, taking in everything. The ceilings are extremely high up, probably around twelve feet or more. The entire entrance looks like something straight out of an artist's dream. Every wall was white, just like the hall, except this time luckily the white isn't made of marble.

"It's a pretty, uh... nice place you got here." I state whilst taking a look around a bit more. 

Canvasses sit in one corner of a fairly sized room that's supposed to be a living room. They come in many different sizes from small to large.

"Go ahead and grab a stool from the counter, I'll get the paints ready." Craig states. "Oh, but first, would you like some tea or coffee? I'm still getting used to this whole 'I have company' kind of thing, so sorry about that." 

"I'll take a coffee and don't worry, it's alright. Don't fret about the little things, I don't really care." I respond with nods of my head. For some reason, when I talk I can't keep my eyes straight on him. My eyes dart around, looking anywhere but on him. 

"Good to note. I'll get you that." Craig states, a light smirk taking place on his face. He strides off to the kitchen I assume. The counters should be around in there, so I follow.

The kitchen is like the rest of the apartment, posh and modern, so it really didn't surprise me to see white marble countertops. Craig is working away at a coffee maker, measuring things out and dumping them into a slot at the top. I decide not to disturb him and just grab the stool and make my way out.

I place the wooden stool in front of an easel, the only one set up. More are lying all around, some with paint splattered on the boards, others spotless and new. There's a few still in their respective cases, even. 

Craig comes back, coat shed now. He holds a steaming cup of coffee in his hands.

"There you go, kind sir!" He jokes as he hands it off to me.

"Thank you." I mind my manners and take a sip. 

I hum in delight. The taste is delicious and the heat fills my soul. "It's really good, Craig." I smile.

"Thanks. I like to tamper around with the way coffee tastes. I thought you'd like it." He gives a genuine smile. "You gonna take off your coat?"

"Oh, yeah." I give a slight chuckle. It feels awkward to be sitting here in Craig's apartment. Despite the awkward feeling lingering in the air, I peel off my coat and set it on the ground, of course sitting my coffee on the ground first.

I take a seat on the stool. I lean over, pinning my elbows to my knees and feet on the rungs. I tilt my head slightly away, but I glue my eyes on Craig to watch him. 

In his right hand, he holds a pencil. I can hear it scrape along the canvas in short, quick strokes. He looks up every now and then, checking to make sure that his work is looking right. It gives me time to take in his features. 

Craig has auburn hair, tufts sticking out at odd ends from under his beanie. His eyes are a dark hazel, deep bags and under-eye circles set in right below. They show whatever struggles he must encounter in his life. His complexion is obviously uneven. Dry patches here, oil there, acne scattered just about everywhere. His silver glasses are extremely thick-lensed. He has to be somewhere close to being legally blind if he isn't already presumed that.

I think I've been staring for too long. Craig smirks at me and shifts his weight to one foot. He puts the pencil down and picks up a palette already full of blues and greys.

I like the way his hand moves as he paints. His fingers wrap around the shaft of the paintbrush so delicately. It's a piece of art in itself, really.

I watch his face twist in ways I've never seen before. His lips pucker and move to the left one second, and then press flat another. His eyebrows furrow as he works on one area, and lift randomly. He's so expressive without saying a word. I've always wondered how people could do that.

As time goes on, the palette gets messier and messier. Paint gets mixed in one area, then wiped off on another. The paintbrushes get dipped in water over and over, sometimes abandoned and switched out for a different one.

I don't realize how fast time is passing by. The next thing I know of, Craig is saying he's finished, signature put down and all. 

I get up off the stool and stretch. I may not have noticed it before, but now my muscles are sore for sure from sitting like that for so long.

I peer over the edge of the easel onto the canvas and what I see leaves me in awe.

"It's amazing..." My loss of words makes up greatly for all the staring I did. 

The painting's of course of me. I'm sitting there, hands folded and everything. It's realism, something I learned about in school, but what makes this painting so unique is the color scheme. It fades from greyish-blue hues at the bottom to solid grey. The painting on my eyes is great too. I can tell that the entire color scheme is based off the color of my eyes. 

"Thanks. I thought you'd be a natural at this... I was right. Well... you were here for three and a half hours, so I guess I'll pay ya thirty-five dollars for today. Ten dollars an hour isn't so bad for sitting there looking pretty for a few hours, huh?" Craig tries to joke. He pulls out his wallet and hands me thirty-five dollars, just like he said.

"No, not at all." I reply, shaking my head slightly. 

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow at noon, yeah?" He asks, tilting his head to one side.

"Yeah, sure." I nod. 

"Okay! See you then!" He smiles as I make my way out of the posh art studio of an apartment.

"Yup." I quickly reply, having a little before shutting the door. The click of it snapping into place fills my thoughts a bit more than it should.

I hum slightly to myself, simply thinking about what to do with the small amount of money in my pocket.

I do this all the way down the hall, down the elevator, all the way to the spinning doors. 

"Um, we're not allowed to let anyone leave... the storm's really picking up and we don't want our residents going out." Kelley says from the front desk. "Trust me, I wanna go home too, but I'm stuck here with the rest of ya."

"Great..." I groan and turn around to go back to Craig's apartment.


	3. Unfinished Work

I take a deep breath. The air is filled with the smell of industrialized vanilla. It's comforting in a way. 

I start my journey along the long hallway. The hairs on my arms prickle from the cool air seeping in from the outside. Oh, my coat... right...

I bite my lip and turn on my heels. I can feel the rubber from the soles rub on the tiles. My feet squeak against the silence of the room as I head back to Craig's apartment.

I have a feeling on the back of my neck that something pretty bad is going to happen... and soon. 

Apartment 143 comes into view. I chuckle at the subliminal message that lies behind the numbers. I lightly tap my knuckles under the numbers and wait.

I stand there for probably a good, solid minute without a reply, so I try again.

No reply.

"How fucking wonderful..." I huff under my breath. "CRAIG? ARE YOU ALIVE?"

Click.

The door swings open to reveal a tired-looking, grumpy Craig. "Hi." He states with an eyebrow raised. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to leave. Did you forget something?"

"No. Building's locked down. I'm stuck here for the night, I suppose. Unless of course you want me to sleep in the lobby." I make random gestures with my shoulders, trying to keep the mood light and hoping that'll make him let me stay. "It's only for as long as this storm, and it can't be that long. Overnight, tops."

Craig ponders for a moment, brows furrowing. "Ok. Uh... you're gonna have to sleep on the couch. I don't have anywhere else for you."

"Ok." I say blankly, honestly not caring as long as it's somewhere warm and safe for the night. "Why are you so tired though? I mean, it's only like four in the afternoon and you're tired. Is there a reason for you to be?"

"Lack of coffee and I've been awake way longer than the average person at this hour. I'd say I've been awake for around fifteen hours now." Craig looks pretty annoyed with my questions. "Just come in, it doesn't matter. I'll make myself more coffee." He states and stamps away from the door, leaving it wide open for my entrance. 

I make my way in right as Craig darts around the corner to the kitchen. I warily look around his apartment. Definitely not too homey... too industrialized.

I stride over to his couch. It's the color of the rest of this building, it seems. You guessed it, it's white. 

I sit down, the couch making an awful hissing sound as my rear hits the cushion. I spot a painting resting against the side of the couch and I pick it up. It's just as elegant as the one Craig painted of me. This one though, it's of a woman. She's beautiful... light brown hair and delicately flicked winged eyeliner. She's painted flush against hues of yellows, pinks, oranges, and reds and it looks like she's coming out of the sunrise. 

My fingertips trail along the brushstrokes, feeling each raised line meticulously made some time ago. The bright colors seep into my eyes, the glistening white of the lady's teeth on her smile stand out. I have an agape mouth looking at this beauty. Well, I did before it's viciously ripped from my hands. Now it's just agape out of shock.

"Tyler! Some of this stuff is personal, ya know." Craig stares down at me, red faced and mouth pressed into a flat line.

His eyes become more and more emerald-colored the angrier he gets. Guilt sets in and I whisper an apology. 

"Don't do it again." He tosses the painting somewhere and walks away, leaving me to the burning pit of guilt piling up in my soul. It pokes at the corners of my mind and dances across my shoulders, weighing them down. 

I feel a question sitting on my lips that I probably shouldn't ask, but it's too late. It's bubbling up my throat and spilling out between my teeth. "Who is it?"

Daggers shoot my way, the way Craig's eyes pierce the silence hanging in the air is enough to scare off a bear. "Her name is Dawn."

I hang my head. "She meant something to you, didn't she?" I barely whisper, words trickling off my tongue like rusty nails falling out of a board.

"Damn right she meant something to me, but just like every other woman I've ever been with, she wasted it. She broke it. She tossed it all away for what? Another man? I thought we actually had something, but obviously not. I still can't believe her to this day... the nerve she had..." Craig rants, fists clenching and eyes staring at nothing. "Anyways, enough about that. You need your rest."

"But it's only quarter after three-"

"I'll get you a pillow and a blanket." He disappears around a corner, obviously not wanting to continue the conversation.


	4. Empathy Might be on the Brink of Extinction

When Craig finally comes back, or so I think, I'm just waking up. He's sitting and looking at me, pen and paper in hand with a cup of coffee sitting beside the chair. 

His face displays no emotion, he's not happy nor grumpy, sad or mad. He's just... there. Staring at me and sketching away on the paper that's held up by a clipboard. 

"Um... do you want me to go back to sleep so you can finish, or...?" I groggily say and rub my eyes. 

Craig looks me straight in the eyes, breathing even. "No. I'm just about finished anyways, so it's not like it really matters." He states and sets the items down on the coffee table. He takes a sip of coffee before nodding in the way of the paper. 

I assume he wants me to look at it, so I do. What I see is a man, presumably laying down, with a blanket thrown over him. His, well, my mouth is open, drool dripping out of the corner onto the pillow. My entire body is covered by the blanket except for my feet, which are out of the end, one foot with the sock rolled halfway down. It's all done in blue ink and it looks spectacular. 

What sets this apart from any normal drawing is what's behind me. They're demon-like creatures, looming over my sleeping body. They're all drawn in black pen, scribbly and scratchy and completely unlike the rest of the drawing.

"You had a nightmare last night. Your face was twisted with worry and I suppose it has something to do with a bad memory." Craig says with his legs crossed, sipping coffee and looking out the huge windows. He's wearing a grey beanie today, his hair neatly tucked inside.

"Yeah..." I start to say, quickly losing all train of thought as to how he could have possibly known that.

"You kept on saying things like 'I'm sorry' and 'I swear I'll have your money' in your sleep as well as the whole face thing." Craig lightly smiles and chuckles. "Also, you'll be stuck here for another day or two. Blizzards are great, aren't they?" He uses sarcasm as he speaks, words dripping with an almost villainous tone.

"Tell me about it. Hey, can I use your shower? I feel pretty grimy right now." I say while wiping my back which is covered in a stale sweat.

"Of course, be my guest. I'll grab you a new shirt and don't worry about pants, you can just walk around in your boxers while I wash your clothes." Craig says and gets up from his chair.

"Okay... Where do you want me to leave my clothes then?" I ask, peeling away the heavy duvet and sitting up.

Craig gets a towel from a closet. "Preferably the hallway so I don't have to go in the bathroom while you're showering. That'd be pretty awkward, don't'cha think?" He chuckles lightly before entering a room in the short hallway. 

I reply with a chuckle of my own, getting up off the couch, knees cracking. I walk down the short hallway. The wooden planks below my feet creak and moan under my heavy weight, seemingly not used to it.

I place my hand on the light door and push, the hinges squeaking and sputtering as they move. They need oil, bad.

I strip down quickly, tossing my clothes just outside the door before shutting it properly. 

I fumble around with the water temperature settings before finally figuring it out and jumping in under the water.

 

After my shower I step out, grabbing my boxers and putting them on. I walk about Craig's apartment shamelessly, for no one can see. Well, except for Craig, but he seems rather comfortable with this situation.

He tells me to pose actually, saying that I have a good figure for it. Not too chubby or muscular, but not lanky either. I take it as quite the compliment since for the past few days I've been living off Craig's coffee and whatever I could nab from girl's homes.

The painting starts off blue, again. He has me sitting on my feet, leaned backwards a tad with my chin tilted to the sky, arms behind me supporting my weight.

His brushstrokes are long and tediously moved. He works with fast-drying watercolors apparently. 

As time goes on, his hand moves quicker against the thick paper. My arms are starting to cramp from holding up my body for this long. 

Blue turns into silver again. It seems to be his favorite color scheme to paint or draw me in. I don't mind, I like the combo. 

When he finishes, it's with a huff and a sip of coffee. I've noticed that he really enjoys making obscure slurping noises when he does. It's a little annoying, considering he's always drinking coffee and making obnoxious sounds, but it's something I can look over for now because I just want to see the masterpiece he just created. 

I get up off the floor, rolling my shoulders out.

"Another piece done in your likeness. What'cha think?" He asks, slightly swaying side to side in his swivel chair.

I move to the other side of the easel and look at it, and boy, it's glorious. It's done with the silver at the top, slowly fading into royal blue, then quickly back into silver. Behind my body there's splotches of something new though, black. I know he did them in the quick doodle he drew when I was asleep, but not in an actual piece.

"I love this." I say breathlessly, my fingers grazing the edges of the paper.

"Keep it. Hang it somewhere if you'd like." Craig says. His words are muffled by his mug, which he has held up to his lips, ready to take another drink.

I smile, barely whispering a thank you. I don't really know where to put it, after all, this isn't my apartment. 

Before long though, my feet take off on their own, finding their way to the couch. I grab a thumbtack that was sitting in a little holder on a table by the sofa, using it to pin the artwork to the wall.

I stand back. The way it's placed makes the light that comes through the window bounce off the silver on the painting, almost making it shimmer.

"Good place." Craig comments, startling me. I jump and almost knock the coffee out of Craig's hands.

"Thanks, and sorry." I say, rubbing the back of my neck.

"It's alright. Make yourself comfortable because it's been snowing heavily, no signs of it stopping either." His eyes drift to the huge windows. 

He's right, it has been snowing. It's been snowing like crazy actually. Not that I mind, I mean, who would? I'm happy right where I am.


	5. A Broken Heart is Just Another Brushstroke

The world is growing darker by the second. Fleets of snow stick to the windows and dismal, grey clouds dominate the sky. 

"You have no home, do you?" Craig says out of nowhere. His brushstrokes slow and he lightly curses below his breath. He grabs a napkin and starts rubbing it on the page.

I take a second to consider the options of my reply. I could tell the truth, tell him that it's true that I have no real home, or I could lie and tell him that I do, but that wouldn't make much sense. "I don't," I say, faintly, ashamed.

"I figured. Not many people sleep as well on an ancient, barely-used couch as you do. Why though?" His demeanor is unchanged, unfazed by my major revelation.

I look at the ceiling, trying to find answers within it. What can I do? Lie? Impossible. "Gambling. I gambled my life away and lost my house, my friends, my family. My own mother wouldn't take me in because she was afraid that I'd gamble her off too."

Craig says nothing but nods ever so slightly in dismay. "Well, there's not much I can do. I can offer you this apartment to share with me, but only if you promise me two things. Also, quit moving and look at me again." He sips his coffee and looks out the window, but quickly turns back to me. 

"What would that be?" I ask. I wonder how hard these promises would be.

He smirks a little, chuckling to himself. "Quit gambling for starters, and keep being my model. I can get you a bed in my storage room. It may be quite small, but it's a roof over your head that you don't have to worry about sacrificing."

I'm quite tempted to say yes. Continuing to be his model? No problem. Quit gambling? Big problem. That and sleeping with random girls has been my only way of life for the previous few years. Ever since I was twenty, that's how I lived. 

"I'll do it," I say, breaking the silence that was created by my thinking. "Answer me one thing though, who was that girl in that painting really? I know her name and what she did, but why paint her and keep it?"

Craig smiles. "Just another broken heart lying beneath a brushstroke."


	6. Chapter 6

Months have passed. The same thing happened daily, slowly becoming accustomed to my new living situation.

This night though, something is different. Craig isn't in the kitchen guzzling down a gallon of coffee, but the hitch to the hallway window is open. I look out, seeing the silhouette of Craig on the roof. We're around fourteen stories up, so he must be nuts to just go out there. 

"Hey, Craig! What are you doing out there?" I shout, startling him. 

"Come out here!" He hollers back, beckoning me to come. I shake my head, denying the invitation. Craig doesn't let up, so eventually, I do.

I walk across the shingles carefully. One wrong step and I'm sent plummeting to the ground.

Craig grabs my wrist when I get close enough to where he is, pulling me down to sit.

Without explanation, he points at the night sky. "Do you see that?"

I look to where he's pointing, curious. "It's a star?" I say puzzled.

"Yes. They're everywhere, but that one is my favorite." He says, grabbing the coffee mug that I had no idea was next to him. 

"Why? It's the dimmest in the sky." I say while looking around at all of the other stars. 

Craig laughs a little, which is a first. "It's determined to stay there. Every night I'm out here, it's there. Right there, shining. It used to be brighter, but now it's special to me."

"Stars can't be determined." I try to reason.

Craig smiles. "Stars can be anything. I've always said to keep your head in the stars."

I look at him funnily, "That's not the quote."

"That quote is describing limitations," Craig begins to say, still staring at the sky, "Stars are limitless. They have no stopping point. Clouds? Once you leave Earth's atmosphere, they're gone. You've reached the limit."

I soak in every word as Craig sips his coffee. I admire the dim star, more determined than ever to crack the code of Craig Thompson, the resident of apartment 143.


End file.
